The Flight

The Flight

‘Hey, don’t go by his fish story! If he’s Sancheet, I bet it will be a tubful of trash,’ commented Utsav snidely about his old friend Sancheet.               

Anubhav was only too surprised to hear such uncharitable remarks. A friend commenting on another in front of a third one—surely, he needed a different set of words and better intonation!

At the same time, Utsav insisted that he bore Sancheet no ill will. ‘After all, he is my friend, and how can I be so ill-disposed towards him?’ he sounded pretty self-righteous as he posed a rhetorical question. According to him, he had no interest in highlighting his friend’s fondness for bragging. He knew something even more heart-rending about him: the poor thing was passing through a difficult time financially. His so-called spectacular literary success had yet to make any difference to him.

‘Look, what happened the other day,’ resumed Utsav. Now, he was in a mood to supply bone and flesh to his remarks. ‘Sancheet came to me, and he was in an unusual hurry. He invited me to accompany him on a trip to Europe. I was quite happy to listen to his success. After all, he needed a break, a long-delayed one, though. But when I asked him about the purpose, the chap had no convincing account to offer.  He was talking of many things at a time: the mission was a part of cultural sponsorships by various embassies; it was a business trip on the invitation of some obscure association of antique dealers to sign a memorandum of understanding there, and so forth,’ Utsav paused a while. Probably, it was deliberate on his part—before uttering something important, he needed a moment’s silence, a break in the flow of talk, and, of course, a violent sneeze.

Then he continued. ‘I should not say it in so many words, but still…I just gave him a hundred bucks. He was flat broke then, badly needing help for his immediate sustenance. I was surprised how eagerly he snatched that, pocketed it, and left, probably to a roadside eatery! Look, it was my friendly duty…and you tell me, how could I have avoided that?’ he ended his utterance with another rhetorical question.

‘So? Do you mean to say his proposal is a hoax? Filming a simple documentary at the Andamans is a hoax?’ asked Anubhav unbelievingly.

‘Huh! With Sancheet as a collaborator, what else can it be? It’s even more than that; it’s an utter rubbish, my friend,’ ridiculed Utsav.

Utsav was an old friend of Sancheet’s from school, but Anubhav had known Sancheet for only a week. Anubhav’s friendship with Utsav was also relatively new; however, it was not as recent as his connection with Sancheet. To be precise, Anubhav and Utsav had been acquainted for about two years. Their relationship began when Sancheet left Calcutta, while Utsav stayed behind to pursue his job and form new friendships. Utsav’s current trip to Puri was partly intended to reconnect with his old friend. These days, Sancheet was living in that pilgrim town, exploring something creative. Anubhav had accompanied Utsav to Puri. When all three gathered, Sancheet was introduced to his new friend, Anubhav. That was the origin of their new friendship.

Despite his recent acquaintance with Sancheet, Anubhav had difficulty accepting Utsav’s words of caution at face value. All the insinuations he now heard from Utsav sounded like biased overstatements—nay, backbiting. If not for his confidence in his own judgment of people and places, Anubhav might have been easily misled by now. With such confidence on his side, he couldn’t recall ever noticing and ignoring any abnormalities in his new friend Sancheet. On the contrary, Anubhav discovered a fascinating character with a broad and contemporary range of interests. From everything Sancheet discussed, Anubhav didn’t sense any urgency for money or self-indulgence; instead, he perceived his new friend’s genuine love for simplicity and gentlemanly respect for cultural ethos. This temperament had drawn Sancheet closer to various finer facets of culture, such as poetry, classical music, folk arts, the collection of rare artefacts, and so on. Whenever Anubhav introduced a random topic, Sancheet was more than ready to contribute to the discussion and express his honest feelings, as though the topic were dear to his heart. He seemed miles away from commonplace gossip. No wonder all this created a natural liking in Anubhav for Sancheet. No wonder, therefore, a stable foundation of friendship was laid—all within just a week!

Utsav was highly critical of the project that the creative duo had conceived. The plan was to create a historical documentary titled “Japanese Excesses in Wartime Andamans.” The exciting idea occurred to them almost spontaneously during their first meeting. Their mood was to do something novel and creative; their objective was to refresh popular memory about glorious yet forgotten events. Sancheet eagerly offered his help to shape the project. Right then and there, he mentioned the best outdoor locations, reputable videographers, mixing studios, potential distributors, and even the formalities involved in submitting their work to the various film festivals. With everything falling into place, they decided on the spot to embark on the project, scheduling the Muhurat, or commencement ceremony, for the New Year. Anubhav agreed to book the airline tickets for their itinerary. The only other immediate requirement was a quick script, which Sancheet offered to write. In the month leading up to the New Year, they resolved to focus on research and scriptwriting for the project. It was a quick idea by all accounts, but Anubhav knew that all path-breaking ideas often come this way—spontaneously.

However, the painstakingly detailed account Anubhav provided about his film-making commitment failed to impress Utsav. No reason seemed convincing enough. Absurd was the name Utsav gave to all the fantastic projects his friend Sancheet often cooked up. So, Utsav continued reflecting—Sancheet might have produced yet another one to impress Anubhav. He might have somehow learnt that Anubhav had the money and connections to waste on his extraordinary ideas. Utsav gauged the depth of the impression Sancheet had made on his new friend! Anubhav was heading towards fraud, like an unsuspecting person lending money to a loser for his last gamble. As the mutual friend of both dreamers, Utsav felt it was his duty to warn Anubhav, who would have the entire financial stake in the project. He firmly believed in the age-old wisdom that “forewarning is forearming,” so he resolved to do everything possible to express his concerns loudly, come what may.

‘Look, I have only one interest in cautioning you. Things will go wrong, as far as I can foresee. For heaven’s sake, I don’t think you should blame me for my failure to warn you in time. I value our friendship, so I want you not to be led there unwittingly,’ Utsav aired his apprehension animatedly. All that he uttered resonated with pre-emptive defence, abdication, and cynicism.

Yet nothing could deter Anubhav. He would instead prefer careless abandon and suffer for it than wallow in pettiness. Having inherited huge property from his wealthy maternal grandparents, he was assured of the basic comforts of life. In the ordinary course, he would not be required to slog for earning them at any time in his life. As a person, he was restless and could quickly get tired of his leisure. This had always attracted him towards things novel and challenging. But where to find the apt content in life that would hold his interest permanently? He started taking his first lesson in Hindustani classical music only in his late twenties. Yet, much to his surprise, he could find himself comfortable in the field in just three years, so much so he had given thus far a few successful live performances before celebrity audiences. The press had given very cheering reviews of those events all along. He acquired a working knowledge of Esperanto. Now, making a movie promised him the same thrill and freshness, even though it was only a documentary. It was historical, patriotic, and so very challenging!

Anubhav had little interest in reacting to Utsav’s condescending homily. Yet, he thought a last-ditch attempt might remove the latter’s misgivings about the project under contemplation, if not about his old friend.

‘I only wish to say one thing in reply. A creative idea often appears a little hazy in the beginning...what one needs to appreciate at this stage is its freshness and appeal. Don’t you think filming such a novel theme is a good idea?’ Anubhav urged Utsav to recognise the importance of the chosen topic, enhancing the impact of his appeal with a rhetorical question.

‘No, frankly, I don’t. Rather, according to me, it’s going to be all wastage,’ countered Utsav. Intending to emphasise his practical tip, he continued, ‘When one isn’t sure about the finish, where is the big point in starting anything?’

‘Well, you have a point here, but then I’d differ with you on that. I don’t reckon one must necessarily be sure about the finish, even before taking a plunge. Is it possible to know everything when what you want is only a tryst with the unknown? Didn’t Columbus know that he had finished his voyage and reached India? Did he know that he had reached America? After all, it’s the spirit to do something new that propels one into action, not just the allurement of result,’ Anubhav tried to appear forceful with his argument fortified by a historical example.

The argument remained inconclusive. Anubhav stayed back in his hotel at Puri for a few days more while Utsav left for Calcutta to resume his duties with the Daily Times of India.

Utsav, a marketing executive at a newspaper, had minimal interaction with the creative team since his job primarily involved collecting and printing pre-prepared advertisements. He also managed a few small commercial columns that occasionally required some innovation. On such occasions, he would approach the creative team for ideas. His experiences in this regard had always been peculiar. Just the other day, someone suggested he try an idea similar to the ‘party line’ in telecom, but through print media—in the same way one might ‘enjoy’ talking sexy stuff to an unfamiliar girl at the other end of the line. ‘Unprintable stuff for printing, eh!’ Utsav had mumbled in doubt, but since the idea’s originator had the reputation of being a genius, Utsav was overawed. When he presented the idea to the special editor, the latter asked for further details. Unfortunately, Utsav didn’t fully understand this complicated concept of ‘party-line-in-print-media’ innovation, and the so-called genius didn’t come to his rescue. It was a complete disaster! Utsav felt as though all hell had broken loose. His boss, known for his fragile temperament, gave him the scolding of a lifetime. The entire fiasco was due to that crazy chap—the creative fellow. Utsav cursed himself, ‘Shame on you, Utsav. Even a fool could take you for a ride!’

Utsav had experienced this sort of situation many a time. It was because he overestimated the so-called creative geniuses as superior to him. Every time somebody let him down in this manner, he would take a vow: ‘From now on, I shall not give a damn for all those high-sounding nobodies…never in my life’. He did not see his attitude towards creativity as a reflection of his inferiority complex; it was instead a cautious response system that he developed for all the pretentious people in his professional world!

But Sancheet could hardly ever understand Utsav’s less-than-friendly attitude towards him. He often wondered why the latter, professing to be his most caring friend, should carry such an inveterate misconception about him. His ideas were conceptually well-intentioned and logistically workable, even though only a few of them he tried had fizzled out before taking any shape. Once, he tried to identify and record who’s who of all the gods and goddesses that lived in India beyond the archetypical Indian pantheon, for he felt every god or goddess, living in poverty either inside a broken temple or under an ancient tree, had a rich folk tradition behind it. But as he proceeded in his probe, he found the work beyond the ability of a single person to tackle. Before the project moved further, he left it. And he considered, even now, that he had chosen something workable. Now, the filming of a historical theme based on Andamans would not suffer the same fate as his previous projects. Anubhav would be there with him till it took shape.

Utsav harboured a deep mistrust of Sancheet rooted in a complex love-hate relationship dating back to their school days. He envied Sancheet’s ability to excel academically without long study hours. On one occasion, Utsav witnessed Sancheet interceding on behalf of a friend who was being harassed by bullies, even getting injured for his bravery. As a result, Utsav nicknamed him Idealist-Baba, meaning uprightness personified. It was typical for Sancheet to score high marks despite being irregular in class attendance and a rare visitor to the library. His academic prowess, which Utsav could not help but respect, was evident in his distinctive, alliterative writing style, voracious reading habits of books unrelated to the syllabus, and skill in impromptu public speaking. Additionally, his extracurricular activities were equally impressive.

During his post-graduation days, he transformed himself into a leftist, sporting an unkempt goatee and dressing himself in a rumpled kurta-pyjama. He always had a pair of flip-flops afoot and a bidi on his lips—a bidi being a country-made cigarette rolled in Tendu leaf (Diospyros Melanoxylon). As a result, his concentration wavered from his studies. This had irked Utsav, inducing a generous concern for his friend in him. Then, he had long sessions with his friend, trying to impress upon him that he should give up his ‘pseudo-Marxist’ posture and the horrible bidi addiction. But Sancheet would not relent. Finding it difficult to reform his friend through sincere counselling, Utsav again nicknamed him ‘Pseudo’ and the ‘Hypo’, meaning ‘the hypocrite’. Sancheet had taken all these in his stride without reacting in retaliation. This further saddened Utsav, who found himself outsmarted in all his initiatives. He could not prove himself better than his friend in studies, and now he failed to establish himself as a well-wisher! All through his life, he had been a vanquished person before the towering personality and ever-unflappable temperament of his friend Sancheet.

There was yet another reason behind Utsav’s critical attitude towards Sancheet. It was something for which Sancheet could not have made himself responsible. Both friends were in university then, intensely conscious of their youthful right to enjoy themselves. Both had the right physique to appear attractive to the fair sex—tall, smooth-skinned, and lean, yet Sancheet had the charm that Utsav lacked. Discretion and sensitivity made all the difference. Whereas Sancheet was circumspect in matters involving feminine sensitivities, Utsav was ostentatious. In the first meeting with her lady love, the latter would insist on deciding whom she should meet and whom she should not. Then, outside, he would prematurely brag about his extraordinary love affair everywhere. Thus, Utsav’s gestures were far too obvious and often irritating, always forgetting that a girl would welcome only such gestures as were mature, moving, and sincere. Probably, that was why the object of Utsav’s adoration, the bright, bubbly girl named Roma, fell for Sancheet. She had, quite unceremoniously, spurned Utsav’s overtures of love on more occasions than once.

That had hurt the manhood in Utsav, yet, like all jilted lovers, he lingered on. And finally, luck rewarded his graceless tenacity. Utsav got a job, and Roma came forward to mend her fence with him. Like any other girl, the charming girl in Sancheet’s life finally elected the security. She chose to archive her first love story and, with it, its protagonist, the bohemian happy-go-lucky Sancheet, who struck the first chord of passion in her tender heart. It was a victory for Utsav, but it was a hollow one at that. The hassles and ignominy endured on his way to victory remained ever-shocking and continued to tease Utsav as usual.

When Utsav got into an executive job in a reputed newspaper like the Daily Times of India, he looked down upon his friend Sancheet with pity and satisfaction. Satisfied that he had finally caught up in the competition, Utsav now considered himself qualified to commiserate with Sancheet, who was not even a clerk with a small-time business concern. So, a pretence of pity for his bosom friend surfaced from the bottom of his heart.

But Sancheet, the maverick genius, was not to be discarded like that. Since his college days, his attitude of nonchalance had developed in him a sort of aversion to taking the strain, which had kept his talents from blossoming. Whereas it was just a smooth sail for him in undergraduate classes, it was not so in his postgraduate stage. He had his political beliefs to distract him. Treatises on political philosophies written by infallible founding fathers bore more charm for him than those dealing with liberal arts. However, he had finally completed his postgraduate degree and decided to lead a ‘free’ life. He wished to lead a thinker’s life for whatever that epithet meant to him. With both his parents dead long since, his well-wishers and relations could not bring about any change in him. After spending five precious years along the corridors of libraries, museums, archives, and intellectual symposia, one fine day, he suddenly realised that leading an entirely liberated life had earned him the loathsome label of a hapless unemployed. Even the girl who was once willing to do anything for a wink from him chose to move away honourably. So, instead of a ‘free’ life, he became a ‘freelancer’. And then success smiled on him.

He moved from Calcutta and resided in an economy hotel in the pilgrim town of Puri. The sequestered lair allowed him to focus on writing. To his surprise, some hidden inspiration emerged, and he began churning out pages of immensely readable content from his dingy hotel room. He was working on a column that presented contemporary topics lucidly and convincingly. His work gained instant acceptance by a stroke of luck, even with the demanding editorial board of the Daily Times of India. He ran the column daily under the title ‘Rough & Tough,’ and it appeared on the same page as the editorials. Soon, it earned him readers’ accolades—so much so that it exceeded his wildest dreams!

However, before the above turnaround could transpire in Sancheet's life, Utsav had already cashed in on his early success. He had qualified as a perfect groom in the wake of a well-paid job, which did not go unnoticed. Roma, the intimate girl of Sancheet, after waiting a couple of years after her education, decided to marry Utsav, the same mediocre character she used to loathe only the other day heartily. As a gesture of gratitude, she visited Sancheet in his cramped hotel room before her engagement. With her characteristic winsome manners, she explained her decision and all the compulsions leading to it, declared her wish to maintain her friendship in the years ahead, and expressed her gratitude for all the sweet gestures that Sancheet had made towards her. Finally, she crossed the platonic limits, jumping into the willing arms of her worthy lover. She wrote her history, as rich as her passion could chronicle, and then disappeared with a clear conscience and a satisfied heart. She went away from Sanceet’s fold but not from his abiding memory.

Successful and sneering, Utsav often compared his victory with Sancheet’s continued struggle. ‘Ah, how lonely is he now!’ ‘What a gruelling boredom was in store for my dear friend!’ Often, there were flashes of commiseration in the friendly corner of Utsav’s mind. He occasionally invited his unlucky friend to his place, principally to show him his loving, beautiful wife and playful son. In his heart of hearts, he was dying to witness how his friend would go through the grief, being confronted with the reality—his platonic love was now abloom in all colours under somebody else’s intimate care. Utsav calculated that his friend would visit his house and be consumed with envy. And the poor little thing would be punished appropriately for always making him suffer!

But as often as not, Sancheet would avoid going there on some plea. Little did Utsav know that his friend was under a resolve not to do anything that would invite troubles into the marital life of Roma, that he considered his darling Roma a part of his sweet past, something to be wistfully cherished but not ridiculously revived. This attitude of aloofness on the part of his friend would always baffle Utsav; to him, it was a kind of snobbery. He could not reconcile himself to the fact that his achievements bore no significance to his friend. On a few occasions when Sancheet did pay visits, his behaviour had been quite natural, inhibition-free, and bereft of any extra movement of eyebrows or wiggle of fingers. This signified his self-control and his lack of nervousness. At least a few unintentional samples of his friend’s discomfiture would have enabled Utsav to establish his comparative maturity as a married man before Sancheet. But alas, that was not to happen.

As Utsav left for Calcutta, Anubhav had two clear days to work on their idea. Sancheet joined him at his hotel that evening. Both friends decided to stroll to the beach while discussing the project. Upon reaching the beach, they were greeted by the cool breeze blowing carefree from the far corners of the Bay of Bengal. The roar at the shore created an incredible sensation as if trying to assure the two dreamers they were on the right track. They were not to abandon their dream project, taking criticisms to heart.

‘How about shooting a small-length film on the same topic instead of a plain documentary?’ prompted Anubhav.

‘Exactly, I was going to suggest that. It’ll be a better project. The best thing is we can have a plot of our choice,’ agreed Sancheet in an animated voice.

‘Say a Japanese general abducts an islander girl, keeps her as a hostage and asks her father and brother, suspected of being the English informers, to resurface from the underground….  In the meantime, Netaji Subhas Bose visits Port Blair. The girl is prevented from meeting Netaji….’ Anubhav disclosed the highlights of his story, looking at the sea and occasionally kicking the sand. Then he paused and looked at Sancheet to know his reaction.

‘Wonderful! What a terrific plot! I had this morning thought something akin to that,’ Sancheet looked at Anubhav unbelievingly, wondering how both could come to think of the same idea and plot.

‘But, Sancheet, there’s a small problem. Only you can solve that…’ said Anubhav, creating an abrupt curiosity in Sancheet.

‘Problem? Like…,’ Sancheet’s mouth, wide open, had only these two words.

‘It’s nothing impossible, my friend. Don’t worry. I assure you we’ll have the film shot at Port Blair. I was talking about selecting a heroine for our film. Here’s something you alone can help me out,’ Anubhav reiterated his commitment, expressing himself reassuringly.

‘How can I be helpful, Anubhav? I’m as much a bachelor as you are. I’ve got very few contacts with members of fair sex, you know,’ said Sancheet in a tone that accentuated his politeness and self-deprecating humour.

Anubhav did not say a word for a few moments. Then, he began to elaborate on his idea somewhat analytically.

‘You see, going for a market search for girls for the female lead in the play is cumbersome. This is not our cup of tea for both of us, the determined bachelors in our forties. Instead, if we can settle for somebody known...If you don’t mind, I have Roma in mind.’

‘Roma? Do you mean Roma Boudi? Our bosom friend Utsav’s wife?’ asked Sancheet, happily awaiting confirmation from Anubhav.

‘Oh yes...And why not?  We both can take care of her son while the shooting progresses. Even Utsav can join us. Roma is better and more photogenic than a girl in her twenties. I’ve thought a lot before suggesting her name,’ Anubhav confirmed while preemptively justifying his proposal.

‘If that’s your choice, don’t worry, my friend. I’m one hundred per cent in favour. Our Roma Boudi is just made for the role. Come rush, talk to her before it’s 8 o’clock, and Utsav is home. Let’s first know her mind,’ Sancheet virtually pattered all his words in one breath.

Both the friends rushed to the hotel, excited and optimistic. Sancheet dialled the landline. The phone at the other end rang at the first dial, and the voice was distinct. No sooner did Sancheet divulge the idea to Roma than she happily agreed, as if she had been looking for an opportunity like this for ages. Moreover, she suggested that she would surprise Utsav only the night before they would depart for Port Blair, and till that time, neither of the friends should disclose the plan to her husband. The progress was impressive, and Anubhav was beaming with pleasure.

Sancheet took upon himself the responsibility of writing the script. He had no experience penning a drama, but the whole thing was more inspirational than professional. As he started writing, the scenes and sequences became clear by themselves. He made the story centre around the heroine—how she displayed exemplary fortitude in captivity, how dearly she valued her honour and the honour of her motherland, and how she was prepared to endure any misfortune for the sake of the motherland. While developing the plot through the graceful flow of dialogues, Sancheet had the inspiration of the Ramayana to guide him. Did Sita, the central character of the Ramayana, not stick to her hope even when the demon king of Sri Lanka abducted her? Didn’t she turn down unceremoniously all the enticements the demon king piled on her? Why should not Sancheet make an adorable character out of his heroine? After all, he had seen love in all its resplendence. His undying passion for Roma impelled him. Roma was in captivity and needed Lord Ram’s courage to rescue her. Her heroine would emerge unscathed from the captivity of her Japanese abductors; she would appear chaste as ever.

Anubhav liked the script so much that he predicted its great future. When it went to Roma, it touched her innermost soul to kindle many tender feelings; she felt nostalgic for everything she had left behind. Through the lines of the script, she could feel the freshness of Sancheet’s love for her; she could listen to the call of conscience: she had been a miser in reciprocating, granting much less than she should have. Now, she was determined to give her best—this time, she should write an engaging new chapter of her life through her lifelike performance on screen.

With a beautiful script, all other preparatory challenges were visualised and meticulously handled. Air tickets for all of them, viz., both the bachelor entrepreneurs and the artist family of three, and rooms in the Bay Islands, a five-star hotel, were booked in advance. The first batch of cinematographers and technicians left for the island by the MV Nicobar shipping service on Christmas day. On the evening of the 31st of December, both Anubhav and Sancheet reached Utsav’s place by 8.30 sharp, as decided.

Utsav was surprised to see both together. Sarcastically, he wondered if they were finally up to something extraordinary.

‘So, you are all set to shoot the documentary, right?’

‘Well, the latest is something like that,’ said Sancheet.

At that time, Roma came out of the kitchen smilingly. She looked incredibly gorgeous in her floral kitchen apron. The dress made the sensuous contours of her body more traceable than concealed. She had prepared for the thrill that awaited her only a few hours from now. She had bleached her face, trimmed her eyebrows, and done her manicure minutely. Her ringlets hanging down on her blossomed face made her naturalness more prominent than the efforts of her beautician. She looked like a nubile girl in her twenties, going to meet with her fiancé.

While asking them to make themselves comfortable, she gave both visitors a meaningful wink. She tried to determine by eye movement if they had disclosed the scheme to her husband and got the matching signal through eye contact. Then, she broke the topic before her husband.

‘Do you know, Utsav, you’re going to Port Blair tomorrow?’

The abruptness with which the context was brought up mightily confused Utsav. Of course, he knew Port Blair, an exotic island destination, had recently been very popular among tourists—so much so that one needed to book their tickets with the lone airline operating in that sector months in advance. Even then, the absence of planning did not make the news believable.

‘Port Blair? Me? Don’t be silly,’ responded Utsav quite unbelievingly.

‘See, here are the tickets. We’re all going. And can you guess what we are going there for?’ asked Roma in her bid to unfold the surprise packet layer by layer.

‘For what? It’s for the New Year, as simple as that,’ said Utsav very matter-of-factly. Continuing, he explained his inability to accompany, ‘But you see, I can’t go tomorrow because I will remain busy. Besides, I will have my hands full until the 10th of January. Some important visitors are coming to my office during the week.’

‘But then I’ve decided to go. Otherwise, how can they shoot the film?  I’m, after all, the lead female character in this script. I’ve been sweating for the last two weeks to memorise the script,’ said Roma pleadingly.

Utsav was nonplussed. He did not expect his wife to make such a big decision all alone, only to hurl a surprise. He was startled that what Roma was terming a surprise was not just a surprise; it was, in effect, a nasty shock. But now that so much had been done, he could hardly dissuade her from the itinerary. It would be a cool twenty days of outing. She would accompany her three-year-old son, an issue they had got after a lot of medical intervention. Utsav toyed with the idea that Roma could be asked to defer her plan just on the plea of their gamesome son, whom she would find hard to manage there all alone. Then again, he gave it up because he was unsure how it would sound to a lady so obviously determined to go ahead with two bachelors, leaving her husband behind so offhandedly.

Now, to put on a brave face expected of a modern husband, Utsav decided to hide his feelings and talk usually.

‘Then you may go and finish your shooting. I’ll try to join you only after January 20^th,’ permitted Utsav.

With these words, everybody in the team became relaxed. Roma gave the finishing touch to her packing, ensuring she took all her cosmetics, script, and saris. Both Anubhav and Sancheet tried to keep Utsav engaged in discussing topics of national and international importance, scarcely being able to hold his attention.

The flight was scheduled to leave quite early in the morning. They should start at 3 a.m. to reach Dum Dum Air Port for a timely check-in. Besides, they had some extra baggage to book. Utsav stated that he would attend the office early on New Year’s Day to preclude all possibility of getting late for the office during the year. Hence, he begged to be excused from attending the airport to see them off. It was quite a superstition as a pretext, but the inspired team had nothing to do with it. Finally, the creative duo and the artist lady with her drowsy son left for Port Blair—the emerald islands, where the ink of creativity was poised to acquire extra sheen.

Still in bed for those remaining hours of that momentous night, Utsav began assessing his loss in this defeat.

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By

A. N. Nanda

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